


In Body or Spirit

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, F/F, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 09:19:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ymir is gone, but Historia remembers her touch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Body or Spirit

Ymir’s fingers are long and slender. In the wrong light, they look like skin coloured spiders, but under the right circumstances, they are deft and skilled. Historia tries to remember how they felt around her, that night in winter. The way those long fingers stroke her cheek, the way her chin was cupped, the way they slid down her naked back. She tries to remember feeling Ymir’s breath against her neck, remember the bitter taste of her mouth, and that scent of wild which had filled her, when they had been together.

The memory falls flat as she lies under the covers, alone in her cot, with her own hand sliding coyly down her belly. Her fingers are short and almost seem chubby by comparison, but with her eyes closed and her memory fading, she can think they are Ymir’s. She has to.

The last time she felt Ymir’s heating touch, when a giant finger had caressed her face, she had known that the titan’s murmur of “sorry” was permanent. But she tricks her senses, as well as she can, to not rationalize her fantasies. _Please_ , she begs her thoughts, as they pester her with truth. _Let me dream_.

Historia pulls down her underwear to below her hipbones, and strokes two fingers through the pale hair, the way she imagines Ymir would do. Lying on the side, she imagines that her back is not pressed against the wall, but against Ymir’s bony body. Her short fingers are Ymir’s slender ones, and as she moves her index finger between her folds, she gasps for effect, to fill the void in the room.

Ymir wouldn’t be quiet. Maybe she would be affectionate, maybe she would be teasing, probably she would be a bit of both, but silence is not an option. Historia imagines feeling Ymir’s breath against her neck again, replicating the feeling of heat with her mind, and she imagines hearing her speak.

“There are others in the room,” Ymir would say, drawling voice filled with taunting. “Are you sure you want to be loud?”

As she hears Ymir say this, she starts to rub her clit, the way Ymir would surely do. It makes her moan, and she doesn’t hold back, just to imagine Ymir smirking against her neck.

That night in winter was a night of discoveries. Historia remembers not techniques, but sensations. As she moves her finger further down, she feels wetness she hadn’t even realized, and uses it as she tentatively pleasures herself with finger and imaginary lover whispering into her ear.

Her breathing feels forced, as she tries to speed up her pace. It’s hot, but she’s not lost all sense of self, and she hasn’t seen white, not yet. She can’t explain all the things Ymir made her feel, but she remembers so well how her hips started to ache, how her legs went rigid, how her muscles tightened and how she lost the ability to think or breathe. Desperately hoping she can achieve it again.

With her free hand Historia cups her own breast. She squeezes, harder than Ymir did or would do, but she can barely feel it. There is some pain, but it’s insignificant, so she changes to pinching her nipple instead. Twisting it, as she continues to move her slicked finger over her clit back and forth, she gasps at the way the feeling resonates through her body.

Ymir wouldn’t be rough with her, at least not this early on. But Historia is not Ymir and she has realized this, and this is the pleasure which comes from her hand, not Ymir’s. Those moments are gone.

Twisting to lie on her back, Historia bucks her hips upwards with spread knees to get better access. Her sex is throbbing, a mix of heat and wet, and she can’t even tell, as time goes on, where her clitoris is. To reach it, she moves three fingers over the wetness and upwards, rubbing circles in fast paces over every part she feels through the warmth. When she finds her special spot again, her fingers are frantic to touch it.

She thinks of Ymir, and is reminded of their separation. But nothing stops her from imagining how their kisses felt like, how she smelt, and how she tasted. Ymir barely stripped, and was naked only when light was out, but Historia knows the shape of her body. Suddenly, she imagines Ymir lying on another bed, a makeshift mattress in the wild, doing the same thing. In her mind, she pictures Ymir with her long fingers between her own legs, pleasuring herself and moaning “Historia” into the darkness.

The imagine drives her wild, and she trembles, her breathing coming in short, rapid gasps. Her legs are twitching with strain, and she can’t tell if it feels amazing, or painful. Imagining Ymir in a similar position, lying nude with freckled cheeks flushed red, her sneering, thoughtful gaze shut for once in pleasure. She listens to her fantasy moan for her, and it makes for a final sharp sensation of _something_ surge through her body. A feeling of numb, spreading from her sex to her head, until it consumes her and leaves her thoughtless and panting.

She hopes that she is moaning “Ymir” as she climaxes, but sounds are so far gone that she can’t tell, only feel.

The image of Ymir sticks to her mind when she comes back to her senses. Her fingers are still moving, at a slow pace aided by the wetness, but the pleasure is over. Eventually she wipes them dry on the sheets, and pulls her underwear back on, even as she feels how the remains of her arousal soil them. Every action feels uncomfortable to make, and her body is sticky, the sheets useless in their task.

Somewhere in hiding, she hopes Ymir is doing the same. She hopes Ymir remembers the surprisingly bitter taste of their kisses, and she hopes Ymir can hear her voice echoing through her mind as well. In these times when they are apart, she hopes Ymir can still find comfort, and know that Historia did not lie, when she said she will always be by her side. In any way she can. 


End file.
